


The Falling of Shadows

by vailkagami



Series: Within the Dissolve [6]
Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Alvina's manner of speaking is still inaccurate, Gen, M/M, Sif and Ornstein still don't like each other, the pairing listed above is only implied in the vaguest of ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-23 18:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13196022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vailkagami/pseuds/vailkagami
Summary: When the Kings of New Londo give in to the Abyss, Artorias is desperate to warn Anor Londo of the threat they now present. Unfortunately, the encounter left him injured and unable to make it there, and Sif's ability to communicate the problem to the other knights in his stead is impeded by both her inability to speak, and her and Ornstein's deep and mutual resentment.Set afterSilence, knowledge of the previous stories of this series not needed.





	1. Chapter 1

New Londo had changed. It was more than just the fear that now permeated the place. It had become darker than before, and colder, although the torches lighting up the streets burned the same and the cracks in the rock face let in the same amount of light. It was the essence of the city that was gradually turning towards shadow, Artorias thought as he climbed up the narrow stairs leading to the bridge. It felt more and more lost, as if there were no hope anymore for its people to be saved while they were being slowly swallowed by the Dark.

He tried to shake off those morose thoughts, but they were stubborn these days, as if the Abyss that was chipping away at New Londo was also seeping into him; a suffocating sensation and a growing sense of hopelessness. The people of New Londo still clung to their city, but now it was less optimism and more necessity that kept them here, as other places would not have them for fear that they would bring the Abyss with them.

Yet they still placed their hopes of salvation on Artorias, who felt more and more crushed by them as he faced the fact that he might be fighting a losing battle. The Abyss was not a foe, it was a force of being. What could a mere mortal hope to do about it?

Beside him, Sif whined softly, and Artorias smiled tiredly as he placed his hand between her ears. Two mere mortals. Of course. He was not alone in this, and knowing this made him feel better and helped him get away from the darkness of his thoughts.

Their steps seemed to echo though the cavern. It was very quiet. Hardly anyone was in the streets. Artorias had found several darkwraiths in dark alleys today, as he had the day before, and in the night they had been called. Now, finally, the wave of attackers appeared eradicated, but the people of the city still remained in their houses unless they absolutely needed to leave on an errant.

And there were few errants to be run. Supplies were getting sparse within New Londo – the city itself had no ground to grow crops on, and the fish found in the channels were hardly enough to keep the population from starving. Farmers from the outside no longer delivered past the gates or even anywhere near them, and the merchants of the nearby towns had stopped trading with the people of this city. Those who made supply runs could only carry so much and sometimes did not come back – either taken by the Dark or on the run.

Artorias had been guarding a group of four on their way to Oolacile for trade when word had reached him of the latest attack on New Londo, and so he had had to abandon them. They had not made their return yet, but he did not truly expect them before tomorrow. Still, once he had reported to the Kings, he would go search from them and join them on their way back.

He was very tired.

Sif was nervous and unhappy and just as tired. Artorias glanced back the way they had come, until he found the ray of sunlight falling into the cavern from the opening to the valley. The sun was just setting, standing low enough for its light to fall directly into the gab, in this one minute when it was standing just so. Another minute and it would be behind the cliff, and it would be all but dark down here, the day essentially over.

“You do not need to come with me,” he offered his companion. “There will be little of interest happening in the palace. I will make my report and then leave for the forest. Go and see if you can find a trace of the escaped darkwraith out in the valley, and I will meet you there when I am done.”

Sif whined again and pushed her nose against his palm, before turning around and running down the stairs again, toward the light. Artorias watched her go for a while, until she disappeared around a corner. He did not believe she would pick up any kind of trace out there, but this place was getting to both of them and there was no point to her lingering here if only he had to report back to the Kings.

He reached the palace minutes later. The gates opened to him as they always did. One of the servants hurried away to inform his rulers of his arrival. Artorias expected to be called to Fant, or possibly Nreoe, as they where the ones most often receiving his reports. He was surprised and a little apprehensive when he was informed minutes later that “the Kings” would await him in their throne room. It was the first time since the day in the reading room that he was to meet more than one of them at a time.

The throne room was nothing like the one in the cathedral of Anor Londo. It was broad, housing four thrones in a semi circle that all looked the same and were not paired with any of the kings specifically. A set of stairs led up to them. A large table dominated the center of the room at the bottom of the stairs, and while the room was high enough to have a gallery from which the room could be observed, it was nowhere near as high as any room in the public parts of the cathedral of Lord Gwyn, as this palace had never been intended to welcome giants.

The Kings were sitting on their thrones when Artorias entered, all silent, all looking at him. Trepidation filled him as he walked towards them and bowed his head, his instincts telling him that something was wrong.

No one else was around. This did not worry him; they were always alone when he reported on the hunt for the servants of the Dark. But having all four of them here like this did not bode well – there was too much to do not to split up, unless something crucial forced them together. And the way they moved, when they finally did, told him that they were sharing their thoughts in a way he had never seen them do before. There no longer was anything individual about them. They were like one being, spread over four bodies.

He only found that he expected them to speak all at once when it did not happen. It was Ballant who spoke, standing when the others remained sitting. It ought to have broken the impression of unification, but it did not.

“Sir Artorias, report,” Ballant said. “Did you wipe out all the degenerate creatures that have befallen our beautiful city this time?”

His tone of voice told Artorias that he did not expect the answer to be Yes. He looked up and met the king's eyes. “I have fought and killed many, my lord, but at least one of them got away and escaped into the valley. I intend to look for him but do not have hopes that I will find him. Regardless, for the moment, all Darkwraiths appear to be gone from the city, as Sif and I have not been able to find any more during our search.”

“Good work, as always, my good knight,” Ballant replied. He was walking down the stairs, and the others were standing now. Even though they were not moving in unison, it still looked like they were; like they were performing the exact same set of movements only with some measure of delay.

“I have failed so far to do anything more than fight back the threat temporarily,” Artorias said regretfully. He fought back the urge to step backwards as Ballant approached him.

“We have not expected anything more. The Abyss is eternal, an endless well of Dark and power. It can never be defeated. You have performed exceptionally in the face of hopelessness. You deserve to be rewarded for your selfless bravery.”

The other three kings started their decent down the stairs. Artorias did take a step back, made it look like he was merely making room for Ballant's approach. “I am not yet done with my work,” he pointed out. “As a matter of fact, even today I am not finished. I need to leave right after my report to escort home those getting supplies for the city.”

“There is no need for you to go out again.”

At first, Artorias thought Ballant had spoken again. The inflection was exactly the same. But the man's lips did not move, and only in the silence that followed was Artorias able to recognize the voice as Gendiran's.

“I do not understand, my lord.” He took another step back.

“We have seen the Dark as a threat from the beginning and fought it. Henceforth we learned that it cannot be defeated. Fighting it is without point or purpose,” Fant explained, and Nreoe continued, “Our initial fear had blinded us to the potential the Abyss held. It was never a threat; it was an offering that we did not understand.”

Old fears that Artorias had dismissed as treasonous returned. “It is killing your city.”

“Only because our city did not accept it. This will change. We understand now. The dark serpent has finally succeeded in making us listen, and we realized we have been deaf so far.” Ballant's voice now came from Artorias' left. They were surrounding him; soon they would block his way to the exit. The knight no longer pretended not to dread their approach and retreated towards the door as it bust open and five soldiers in the armor of the palace guard came in, raising their pikes.

The doors on the gallery opened as well, releasing more soldiers, aiming crossbows at him. Artorias drew his sword and the kings stopped their approach. They were all around him, but out of the reach of his sword. If he leaped he could take down one before the soldiers descended upon him...

He saw the dark glow around Ballant's hand before he could decide which of them to aim for. Artorias had defeated the Dark Hand countless of times and if was not as dangerous to him as it was to humans, but it would be able to fend him off for seconds that he did not have to spare, and the kings were very powerful. A possibility existed that he would not make it anywhere near them. Even now he could feel the build up of their power fill the room.

“We do not wish harm upon you, Knight Artorias,” Fant declared in the same calm tone of before. “You have served us well, even if our orders were misguided. Lay down your sword and we will share this power with you. The Abyss wants you; it can give you all the power you have ever wanted and more.”

Artorias stared at him, only now beginning to truly understand how deep the desire for power and meaning must have run within the kings, that they thought everyone would share it. He should have seen this sooner and stopped it somehow. Ornstein was right; he was too naive, and now all of Lordran, perhaps all of the world, would have to pay the price.

Something was changing about their faces. They seemed to lose all color, leaving them ghostly-pale, with dark veins seeming to crawl up their necks and across their cheeks and temples. They had spun an illusion so far, he realized. This was the true appearance of creatures who had invited the Abyss into their being.

Within a second, Artorias evaluated the situation. The Kings had always been powerful magicians, and with their new strength there was little chance that he could take out even one before they overpowered him – something he could only hope would result in his death. While everything in him called for action in the face of this overwhelming threat, Artorias knew a hopeless battle when he was confronted with it.

Fighting would get him nowhere. Escape was unlikely, but he had to take his chances. He leaped for Nreoe, changed his direction in the last second and struck down the soldiers blocking the door. Not wasting time on finishing them off as crossbow bolts glanced off his armor, he leaped down the stairs, past the surprised guards and the five darkwraiths that were walking up the hall towards the throne room.

The heavy front gate began to close but Artorias made it through in the last moment and it ended up cutting off his pursuers for precious seconds.

The streets were as deserted as before. Artorias wondered about the people of the city as he sprinted past their houses, already hearing the sound of armored footsteps behind him. Were they all corrupted now? He did not think they were; he had met several of them in the last two days and they had been frightened, in denial about the severity of their situation, and as normal as ever. He had sensed the change in the kings the moment he had entered their throne room.

So they were untouched, but for how much longer? What could he do for them, now that their rulers and all their soldiers had turned against them?

A bolt hit the stone beside him and he impossibly sped up even more, rushing towards the circle of paler dark that was the exit into the valley. Leaving the cavern would not save him; his pursuers could leave as well and he was still on his own save for Sif who could be anywhere in the valley and might not make it in time to help him. But the open space would give him a chance to maneuver more freely; he would not have to fear for bystanders, and if all was lost, he could throw himself off the bridge to deny the Abyss its final prize. Most of all, Sif had a better chance of getting away than he had, and if she saw what was going on she could warn Anor Londo. Somehow. If anyone would listen to her.

In truth, he had no viable plan for what to do. All he knew right now was that he needed to get away.

Movement beside him made him twist around, causing sharp pain to run up his back from old wounds and sharper pain to erupt from his left side. He saw the figure jumping down at him from one of the bridges and his arm felt sluggish and slow as he raised his sword to defend himself. And then Sif was there like a light shade flying through the dark, her own sword slicing through armor and flesh and the attacker crashed to the ground beside Artorias as a corpse.

Less than a minute later, Artorias and Sif were outside, halfway down the bridge, and turned around to await every new attacker that was coming for them, but the mouth of the cavern, now dark and threatening, released nothing else.

Artorias and Sif did not wait for anyone to show themselves. The hurried up the path until they made it to the elevator. The sky above them was a deep azure, streaked with purple; the sun had not yet finished setting. Everything had happened in barely any time at all.

The elevator was not waiting for them, and the time it needed to come down to them was long and tense. When they stepped onto the platform, Artorias' left leg gave out, and he had to lean heavily on Sif to make it out into the cave at the other end.

He had noticed the crossbow bolt as it went through the armor back in the palace, but had been forced and able to ignore the injury completely. Now his body appeared to have decided that functionality was no longer needed. On top of the new and old pain, a wave of exhaustion rushed over Artorias that even the adrenaline and the danger were not able to fend off.

“No,” he told Sif when she pulled on his arm. “No, I cannot move on. Not quickly enough. You need to go on your own.”

Sif refused. Artorias had expected that, but she needed to be more than simply his companion right now. They had a duty that went beyond each other. “Lord Gwyn needs to be warmed. The Kings know that we have escaped and will be making our way there. Word needs to reach Anor Londo before they can react, and before they can catch up with us.”

Sif whined. Artorias gently pushed her away. “Do not worry. I can still fight, if they come upon me. You need to run as fast as you can. Find Ornstein.”

At this, the wolf recoiled. Growled. Artorias frowned at her, then ground his teeth as his attempt to take another step shifted the bolt in his flesh; he could feel it pierce something inside him.

“I know you dislike him,” he pressed out. “But this is not a time for personal resentments. He will listen to you, or follow you here at the very least. Lead him to Alvina if you have to. She speaks our tongue, she will explain.”

Sif still hesitated. Artorias was aware that he might be dying, and he would be loath to leave his friend alone in such a state as well. “If they yet follow us they will soon be upon us,” he urged. “My injury is not as bad as you may believe, but it will get worse if I attempt to keep up with you. I will find a place to hide if I cannot move on, but you must leave now before they can spot us. Be swift, my friend.”

Sif howled brokenly, but finally turned around and ran. She was gone from Artorias' sight within seconds.

Now that the warning was underway, and it no longer mattered as much whether Artorias made it back to Anor Londo alive or not, the last bit of energy depleted from the knight's body and he finally sank down the cave wall to his knees. He would never be able to make it up the ladder to the Royal Wood, he knew. It was too long; he had no strength for half that.

He did not appear, in fact, to have the strength to get back to his feet. Eventually he managed, dragging himself along the wall, and slumping down again, trembling and bathed in sweat, at the mouth of the cave. Had the bolt been poisoned? Had he already lost so much blood?

Or was the despair about the fall of the kings so overwhelming that he saw no hope in fighting for New Londo anymore and was simply giving up, preferring death over facing again the inhabitants of a city he had no way of saving?

It could not be. He would not accept it. What would happen if he died here? No one else was equipped to fight the Abyss but Sif, who could not do it alone. She might try, and perish. Gwyn and his knights would do all they could to contain the threat of the Four Kings, but they would have no means of doing so. Unless they collapsed the cavern on top of them, taking them out or at the very least imprisoning them from a distance. Everyone inside New Londo would fall victim to whatever means the lords of Anr Londo had their disposal to fight this well of Dark, whether they were tainted by it or not. Artorias could not allow that without a fight, even if the fight was hopeless.

By the time he reached the basin underneath the forest, darkness had swallowed the land. There was no moon in the sky and the only illumination were the glowing flowers in the distance, far above him. Artorias stopped at the waterfall where he took off his helmet and allowed the icy water to run over his face. He was very thirsty, but ever gulp of water sent new waves of agony through his body. He forced himself to drink anyway, as pain could be ignored but lack of water could kill him very quickly.

His hair was soaked and plastered to his head. He brushed it out of his face with trembling hands; freed from the constriction of his armor it fell mere inches past his shoulders, and he drifted, against his will, into memories of times when it had been much longer and why it no longer was. A while later a sound nearby pulled him out of a nightmare and he woke shivering and so cold he thought he might never move again.

He moved none the less – his numb fingers felt for the sword that had slipped from his grasp and he struggled to sit upright and get an inkling of what had woken him. The sky was still back, and the waterfall downed out all movement. He finally managed to stand, putting most of his weight onto his long sword. He had left his shield behind in a crack between two rocks in the cave, it being too heavy for him to take along. If he lived, he would go back for it.

Further from the waterfall, he still could not hear more, but he now saw that the sky was not entirely black. It was, ever so slowly, turning to a deep blue with the approach of sunrise, and for a moment, as his legs gave out and he sank to his knees again, he saw a shadow fly over the chasm, great and winged.

Kalameet? Stories had reached them that the black dragon had been seen near the Oolacile sanctuary over and over again during the last year, and Gough had come here once looking for him but decided to leave him be as long as he did not cause further harm, as challenging him this close to the township would likely lead to disaster, even if they won. Artorias wondered if the dragon would eat him now, but the shadow did not descent upon him. It disappeared, and shortly after another shadow jumped from a ledge near the ladder that marked the limit of how far Artorias could go and walked over to him of four strong legs that made no sound.

“I appear to find thee in a poor state,” Alvina greeted him. “Is thine body indeed so weak that thou canst not stand?”

“I am afraid that is how it is,” Artorias confessed. “I may be able to make it to the ladder but I could never climb it. Indeed I may be dying, though I hope not, as I have much left to do and a message to get to my lord. Did Sif send you?”

“That she did. She came to me in quite some distress. Thou art asking perhaps a bit too much from the poor creature, dost thou not think?”

“Was she hurt?” The thought was very upsetting indeed. Artorias wondered what may have happened. “She was not injured when she left me.”

“Only full of worry for thee. I understand that thou wishest that word reaches Anor Londo as quickly as possible, but I fear not one of your people will listen to a wolf, or know how to.”

“Ornstein will at the very least follow her if she comes back without me,” Artorias predicted. Alvina made a hissing sound.

“Will he? Does he not fear your lord's wrath if he so does?”

She was not fond of Ornstein either, though she did not share Sif's deep resentment. Ornstein had no respect for her, thinking her little more than a beast that had learned to imitate words and phrases, and she held that against him. Artorias could not blame her.

“He will bring others. I was hoping you would explain to him what Sif cannot. It is good you are here. I shall report to you all that has happened so you can pass it on if I cannot.”

“Thou dost well to spare your breath. Friend Elizabeth is waiting for thee with her healing magic; thou shalt tell thy story thyself.”

Artorias looked at the ladder, reaching so very far up the cliff. “It honors you that you are trying to help, my friend. But I cannot climb this ladder and I cannot walk the long path up the cliff. My legs will not carry me even now.” And he was very cold. The spray of the waterfall had thoroughly soaked him. Yet he was thirsty again; so thirsty that he would have dragged himself back to the water had Alvina not been there and demanding his attention.

Alvina made a disapproving sound deep in her throat. “Though willst come with me,” she insisted and pushed her body underneath his arm not unlike Sif had done earlier. “I do remember thee as more stubborn than this. Surely thou willst not allow such a small injury to stop you.”

Artorias nearly laughed. Will had nothing to do with it if his body simply would no follow his orders. He thought of the long, steep path up to the forest for the first time. Somehow, he had not even considered going up it, even though he knew the ladder was out of the question. Anyone going to New Londo in a hurry would take the ladder, he realized, or jump from ledge to ledge as Alvina had done. This place was where they would have found him, where he could have given his report if they found him in time. “I should not leave here,” he pressed out between painful breaths even as he leaned on his friend and struggled to his feet. “They will never find me with Elizabeth.”

“Sif would lead them, as thou said.”

“Not fast enough,” Artorias protested. They were wandering out of the valley now, towards the path, and they were very, very slow. He tried to speed up his shaking steps, but his legs would not lift any higher off the ground, and then he nearly screamed in pain when his boot caught on the uneven earth and he stumbled. “The situation is urgent,” he gasped. “At this speed, Ornstein will be here long before we make it to Elizabeth and they will waste precious time looking for us or run into New Londo unprepared.”

“Quiet, kitten,” Alvina scolded him. “Let this be mine to worry about. Only think about the next step.”

Soon, it _was_ all Artorias could think about. That, and the cold that lingered in his body and got worse with every moment, paralyzing him more and more. He stumbled often by the time they finally reached the path and the sun had risen above the horizon. The sky soon became overcast and he lost all sense of time but surely it had to be midday when they arrived at the first platform overlooking the valley? Artorias could barely think anymore. He threw up the moment they stopped and was not surprised to see blood mixed with the bile. Was Ornstein already looking for him? Or had he decided not to come, fearing Gwyn's wrath as Alvina had suggested? Artorias did not believe so; Gwyn was not that petty, and Ornstein would not let it keep him form doing his duty. Perhaps Ciaran would be with him. Artorias would like to see them again...

He managed to get back to his knees in the end, and then Alvina sort of shoved her body under his until she more or less lifted him off the ground. He eventually regained his footing and they made it halfway up the next slope before he fell again.

Whenever he had enough breath for it, he talked about the Kings, their soldiers, and what they had said about the dark serpent that had given them this power. His throat ached and he was incredibly thirsty. At some point he wondered if he was talking at all or if he merely thought he was, and whether or not what he said had any coherency at all.

“I am sorry,” he muttered, not sure what he was apologizing for. Many things, likely.

“No need to express regrets,” Alvina assured him. He was clinging to her so closely, he could feel her voice rumble through her body. It was soothing. “We are very close now.”

They were not. Artorias had that much clarity left. They were not halfway up the cliff, and once they reached the top, a long track through the woods awaited them before they made it to mostly immobile Elizabeth.

At least there had been no sign of pursuers so far, and now Artorias wondered why. Had they lost him in the night? Did they believe him long gone? Another memory pushed through the fog and he pushed himself away from Alvina and immediately fell.

“He said they Abyss wants me,” he muttered.

“What is the matter?” Alvina wanted to know, turning to him.

“King Fant, he said the Abyss wants me. If they follow me, they will come upon you. You cannot be with me. You cannot take me to Elizabeth!”

“We are not defenseless, kitten,” Alvina said patiently. She tried to push Artorias up again but he pulled away, suddenly frantic to put distance between them so his presence would do her no harm. Within seconds he lost his footing and stumbled backwards, down the slope, but the expected impact never came. The sensation of falling went on and on and for the longest moment he believed he had fallen over the edge of the path and was tumbling to this death. Then the pain in his side flared up as something moved and he realized he was not falling at all but held by something he could not name. Instinctively, he started to fight.

“Do not fret, old friend,” Gough's voice boomed from somewhere nearby. “I wish no harm upon you and you will cause yourself unnecessary pain if you are not still.”

Gough being here made no sense. He was far away; not even in Anor Londo. It took Artorias for too long to realize that he was, against all odds, lying in the arms of a giant, and that the giant was indeed his old friend. He looked up at the helmet the ancient archer wore with such pride and coughed.

“I did not know you were back,” he rasped when he was done, and added, simply to make sure, “Are you truly here?”

“I am,” Gough replied in his soothing voice. “A crow found me nearby and brought message of your plight. You must tell me, friend, what has befallen you. But not now. We must get you healing first.”

“Alvina does not want you entering the woods,” Artorias slurred. It was hard to focus on one thing when his thoughts kept slipping. “You trample everything.”

It was also hard to be diplomatic.

Gough merely chuckled. “I can carry you. So she will make an exception, I am certain.”

“This once,” Alvina allowed. “For thou art able to carry him.”

Artorias felt himself lifted and for a while he saw nothing but the sky. He tried to move but found every part of his body too heavy. The agony had faded somewhat, however – a distant memory told him that this was not a good thing.

“I need to tell you,” he suddenly said when an uneven step caused pain to shoot through him anew and pulled him from his daze. “The Kings. They have fallen to the Dark, they will bring down the entire city. You need to find Ornstein when he comes. Warn them!”

“I will, as soon as you are safe,” Gough promised.

“Now.” Artorias tried to pull himself upright. He screamed in pain but managed to get into a more vertical position and tried to struggle out of Gough's hold. He could just as well have fought a mountain. “Go now. They must be nearly upon the valley. Take me with you if you must. They will need my knowledge.” His speech was interrupted over and over again by painful rasps and coughs. Talking hurt, but he pushed through the pain to make his friends understand. Alvina was dedicated to this forest that was now at risk. Gough was a soldier who had put duty first for longer than Artorias had been alive. Surely they would see that he was right!

“Your loyal Sif will find you,” Gough promised, and Alvina added, “Thine companion will lead thine friend straight to thee.”

No, Artorias thought. I told her to focus on Anor Londo. He didn't think he said any of that out loud, and while he heard Gough's voice again, no words could be made out in any manner that made sense.

Artorias tasted blood. He thought he made it out of Gough's arms but in the end all he remembered was the sensation of falling.

  



	2. Chapter 2

Sif had run up the stairs to the cathedral not long after Ornstein had emerged from his chambers. Outside of Anor Londo, the sun would have risen just then. The wolf was exhausted, frantic, and there was blood clearly visible against her light colored hide that was not hers. She made her way straight to the dragon slayer despite their mutual dislike, and while Ornstein had no talent for reading her thoughts or motives, he learned all he needed to know from the fact that she had returned on her own.

He took four of his soldiers and a skilled healer and followed after her, not surprised when she led him to the Royal Woods in the direction of New Londo. Questions of what had happened there remained unanswered and unasked, as she would not have been able to explain anything to him. Ornstein and the others followed the wolf as quickly as they could, anxious to learn the whereabouts of Knight Artorias, but there was only so fast they could go and she slowed down more and more, sniffing the air and now searching for her way rather than remembering it.

Ornstein tried to quell the growing worry in him with the comforting thought that Artorias had clearly moved since they had parted ways, so he could not be dead, or injured too badly. Unless he had been moved by someone else, in which case death might be the most favorable possibility.

The sun was high in the sky by the time they found a trace even Ornstein could read: the footprint of a giant in the soft earth. His heart sank, then soared, then lingered between fear and worry, as he had no true reason to believe this had been Gough walking through the forest when for all he knew his friend was far away, and not all giants shared his kind and philosophical nature.

One thing gave him hope, however, and that was the fact that giants never entered this forest, as they damaged the trees and the beasts living here under the leadership of Artorias' feline friend, the ancient cat Alvina, did not tolerate that. If a giant was here, Alvina was either gone, or she had given her permission.

Once they found the trace of deep footprints and broken branches, it was not long before they found the giant himself, sitting cross legged in front of a shallow cave. It was indeed Gough, and he called to them in greeting.

“You have made it, and in just time as well,” he said in his low voice as Sif disappeared into the cave. Ornstein resisted the urge to run in right after her. “Much has happened and action needs to be taken swiftly. Artorias was quite frantic to get word to you.”

“He should have send someone who can talk, then,” Ornstein growled to mask his relief. “Or come himself. There has been some worry when Sif returned without him. However, I take from your words that he is alive.”

“He is, but only by grace of luck and will. His armor was pierced by the crossbow bolt of a New Londo palace guard and the bolt had done much by the way of damage before we could get him here and remove it so his body can be healed. He sleeps now, and should continue to do so, I believe, for another day and night.”

The news weren't as good as Ornstein had hoped a moment ago, yet not nearly as bad as he had feared all day. “What happened?” he asked. “Why would the guards shoot at him?”

The guards surrounding the Four Kings were all lords, tall and strong, their archers wielding large weapons that shot large bolts. In the end it barely mattered – a splinter in the wrong place and untreated for too long could kill a man. Albeit, a splinter would hardly have penetrated Artorias' armor.

“It appears, to the best that anyone has gathered, that the kings of New Londo have fallen to the Dark and taken their knights with them.”

Ornstein thought he must have misheard that. “Surely you jest,” he said. “You must have misunderstood Artorias' meaning.” Simply making this claim could be considered treason.

“It is possible, as our friend was in quite a faint state when I came upon him and no longer fully aware of what was happening around him. He was very adamant, however, that the kings had been corrupted and Lord Gwyn needed to be warned.”

Ornstein shook his head. “I cannot believe it. The kings are not that weak. They were trusted with a shard of the lordsoul of Lord Gwyn himself.”

“And then they slowly faded into obscurity,” Gough reminded him softly. “Men will do many strange things to be of import.”

“They are kings. They have been entrusted with the power of Lord Gwyn and hold his trust. They would not betray him. Surely something else must have occurred.” For if the Kings could be corrupted then anyone could, and the land might truly be lost.

“We will have to see for ourselves, as I do not believe that friend Artorias will thank us for postponing this urgent matter until he has returned to consciousness.” Gough was right; whatever was truly going on, they clearly needed to take care of it now. But Ornstein needed to see Artorias first and ascertain that he was not dying. “Where is Ciaran?” Gough asked just as he entered the cave. “Was she not able to come?”

“She is on an assignment; there was no time to wait for her return.” It was true, but also true was that Ornstein had not send word or spared a moment to see if the assassin was back yet. He had not, in fact, thought of her at all until now.

That would not do, and he silently vowed to do better. He knew very well how much she cared for Artorias, and while he did not approve, she was also his friend and deserved more consideration than he was giving her.

And no matter her feelings, she was too conscious of their duty to ever act on them. Perhaps he dismissed her so easily out of envy.

The cave he now entered was not deep enough to be truly dark, and once Ornstein took off his helmet and Gough shifted behind him and stood so that his body was no longer blocking most of the daylight falling in, the dragon slayer could see everything perfectly clearly. There was a very large mushroom seemingly growing out of the wall, and Ornstein nearly readied his spear when he saw it had a face. It did not have arms to attack him with, and when Sif, who was sitting beside Alvina the cat and the prone form lying on a stack of blankets, jumped up and growled, he reconsidered.

“I greet thee, noble knight,” the mushroom said. “I am Elizabeth, a friend of those collected here. Alvina had dear Artorias brought to me for healing, but I am afraid it will be some time before thou canst talk to him. My magic hath put him into a deep sleep whilst his body mends.”

Ornstein nodded slowly and said nothing, because he was distracted and because he did not quite know how to address the mushroom. He had heard of Elizabeth; Artorias had spoken quite highly of her, but she was a mushroom, in the end, and though he had rarely said it out loud, Ornstein had always thought that dealing with her kin was beneath a lord of Artorias' standing.

She had, however, saved Artorias' life, if Gough had not put more gravity on the situation than it deserved – something that he was not in the habit of doing. Ornstein could only imagine that a mushroom so magical it had gained sentience had a lot of magic to spare, and even now he could sense the lingering touch of healing spells that surrounded his friend.

Artorias was shirtless and very pale. His torso was bandaged – probably by Gough, the only one available who had hands – and blood was seeping through from a wound in his left side. He stirred ever so softly when Sif carefully settled beside him but did not wake. When Ornstein took off a gauntlet and placed his palm on Artorias' skin to find it very hot and dry, he did not react at all.

Whether this sleep was natural or had been induced by magic, the dragon slayer could not tell. Either way, it was unlikely that Artorias would be of any help, even if he had been awake. Healing magic was not an instant fix, and it did not create health from nothing. The magic used the capacity inherent in the body that was being healed, but all the energy that was now knitting together pierced flesh and organs and helped Artorias to struggle through the blood loss was not available for anything else. It was not unusual for people to fall gravely ill after being saved by healing magic, sometimes to the point where they died of an illness their bodies now no longer could fight off. Ornstein could see that there was no risk of that happening here; none the less sleeping through the next day was likely the best way for Artorias to preserve his strength.

And Ornstein was glad that in this manner, his friend would be spared a lot of discomfort, yet at the same time he cursed the fact that it made him unavailable for information.

“Can you wake him up?” he asked the mushroom, his sense for duty winning out as it had to. Elizabeth's face did not change much – Ornstein was not sure that it could – but he sensed her disapproval.

“Not without causing him great pain, and slowing down the healing of his physical form. I will not do so without proper reason.”

“There is a reason. Something bad is going on and Artorias is the only one who knows what we have to prepare for.”

“Not the only one. Sif was there and has already relayed to us what occurred.”

Dragon slayer and wolf shared a look of pure resentment. “Sif cannot speak.”

“She can. It is thee who dost not listen,” Elizabeth corrected mildly. She sounded like Artorias, except she also sounded patronizing in her gentle amusement. Ornstein was aware that she had lived for many millenia; had perhaps lived as long as Alvina, yet he wondered if she was aware that he was not a child.

He had killed dragons in the ashes that would shape this world.

“Gough has told me about the kings of New Londo. I cannot believe it.”

“Thou must,” Alvina now made herself heard, her voice undermined by yowling and growling to the point where Ornstein was not even certain he truly heard the words with his ears rather than his mind. “We can all feel the darkness in their city, in the way all life avoids the place.”

“That it hardly a new development,” Ornstein reminded them. “Artorias has been fighting the Abyss in that city for many years.”

He could not believe that he was here discussing the report of a wolf with a cat and a mushroom. What a waste of time.

“Indeed he has, and yet things have changed in a way that thou couldst not understand if thou tried,” Alvina told him, knowing very well that he had no way to disprove her claim. “Sif hath seen the guards of the kings chase after Artorias. She hath struck down one of them herself, and hath sensed the Dark in them.”

This was getting worse by the moment. “Sif has struck down a palace guard?” That was treason, there was no way around it. “She has gone mad! Such an action cannot go unpunished.” He glared at the wolf, decades of growing animosity now fired up by the memory of a dark day. “You should hope that this time it is you who bears the punishment.” Which by all rights should be death. Even if it was the guard who had gone mad and attacked first, Sif's action would still be seen as treason, and the Four Kings were unlikely to let Artorias argue on her behalf as Gwyn did.

Sif glared back at him and growled. The resentment and blame went both ways.

“It seems that all of the guards have been hunting poor Artorias,” Gough now joined the discussion from outside the cave. “Do you not believe they had a reason for that? And do you honestly believe the reason lies in something Artorias has done?”

Ornstein could not imagine it. He did not want to imagine it. Had Artorias lost his mind? Ornstein was aware that the exposure to the Abyss was damaging him in some way yet could not truly imagine how. So far, he had brushed it off as something Artorias was able to deal with, as he had always proved capable of dealing with anything. Perhaps he had been wrong.

Perhaps, in the end, it would have been kinder to their friend to die of that wound.

“The Abyss could have gotten to _him,_ ” he told Gough and all the others. His fingers, still lingering on Artorias' forehead, brushed away damp black hair.

“It did not. We would sense the corruption. And thou shouldst know better than to assume he would fall so easily,” Alvina scolded him.

“Yet you imply that the kings did.”

“It was not easy, but it was not sudden either,” Gough told him. “Artorias has expressed concern for a while, though I doubt he saw how great the risk truly was.”

Artorias had mentioned, at some point, that he felt the kings were struggling to find a new purpose in this world. Only Gough could have interpreted some kind of deep meaning into that.

Ornstein struggled as well, and he would never be tempted by the promise of power.

Then again, he had never had any that could dwindle.

“Why art thou so ready to doubt your friend over men thou barely knowst?” Elizabeth asked him.

“Because it is my duty to be free of bias. I cannot believe Artorias over the kings simply because I like him better.”

“Your awareness honors you, and yet it is faulty,” Gough insisted. “You doubt Artorias without having even heard, or seen, the other side. You _are_ biased; your bias is based on the fear of showing too much fondness for our friend.”

The words were crossing a line. Ornstein had to actually get to his feet and walk a few steps to glare at Gough, but he did so, and he did it with words on his tongue that in the end he never spoke. This was not the time and the place. No place was the place, and no time was the time. There were things all concerned had been content to never, ever mention, and Ornstein saw no reason for them to change that, now.

“He is right. Thine judgment is affected,” Alvina yowled. “Thou and thine men ought to go to New Londo and see the kings yourself.”

“And we will use proper caution,” Gough promised. “I will go with you.”

“You can barely even enter the cavern,” Ornstein reminded him, glad for the change of topic. “You should stay here and watch over Artorias until he wakes, then bring him to Anor Londo.”

“That may not take as long as you would think,” Gough rumbled, and when Ornstein turned, he saw Artorias move listlessly, his hand going to his forehead where but a moment ago Ornstein's fingers had brushed his skin, and then, with a groan, he opened his eyes.

Ornstein glared at the mushroom who had predicted for Artorias' sleep to last at least a day, but said nothing. Instead he moved to stop his friend from moving too much but was too late, as Artorias had already pushed himself to his elbows and was trying to fully sit up. In the end, Ornstein ended up assisting him, as he could see from the knight's glassy eyed look that he was not fully aware of his surroundings and holding him down would likely have ended badly for at least one of them.

Unfocused eyes settled on his face; Ornstein could tell Artorias recognized him, but he seemed not able to make sense of his presence. Confusion and uncertainty reflected on a face usually so careful what to reveal and he lifted his hand as if to cup Ornstein's cheek.

Ultimately, it did not happen. Ornstein, who was acutely aware of both the presence of the other people and creatures around and of the fact that Artorias obviously was not, was both relieved and disappointed when the anticipated sensation of skin against skin did not happen. But Artorias' attention had already slipped from him to everything else, and slowly understanding dawned on his face.

“What are you all doing here?” he rasped. “You should be taking care of the Kings. Or have you yet? Has Lord Gwyn been warned?”

“Lord Gwyndolin is taking care of Anor Londo in his father's absence and will pass on the news, as far as we understood them at the time,” Ornstein told him. In truth, he had only send word that Artorias appeared to be in trouble and that something was going on in New Londo or nearby. It was all he had known at the time. He assumed that Gwyndolin would send spies of his own to New Londo in no time, but for the moment all he had done was ascertain that their lords knew where to look if they did not return.

Artorias stared at him, then at Gough, and then at Sif, who looked back defiantly. “You have not been to New Londo,” he realized.

“Our first concern was for your health, friend,” Gough rumbled gently. Artorias shook his head.

“Do you not understand the urgency of the situation? The kings have fallen, and they will take the city with them if they are not stopped. Even now they are gaining power, in the Abyss where they cannot be touched. Gwyn must learn of this, as he is the only one who may yet have a chance to stop them.”

“And he will, once we can tell him what truly happened.”

“Did Sif not explain it to you?”

“All Sif did was growl and yip,” Ornstein informed him. “If you want to relay a message, perhaps try sending something that can speak next time.”

“This is not the time for your petty conflict,” Artorias snapped, and this, more than anything, made Ornstein feel the urgency of the problem. In all the years they had known each other he had heard him use this tone of voice perhaps twice before. “You are here, are you not? I knew if you cannot understand what Sif is saying, she would lead you to Alvina to translate.”

Artorias knew what Ornstein thought of the creatures of the woods. Obviously he had trusted him to shelve his arrogance in a time like this.

“We have learned that the kings have fallen to the Abyss,” Ornstein conceded. “Yet it is hard to believe.”

“But true. They came upon me when I gave my report. I saw Ballant use the Dark Hand and they spoke of a dark serpent who offered them unlimited power.” He gave them a moment to let his words sink in. Ornstein could not suppress a shudder.

“Kaathe?” he speculated.

“I would not know who else,” Artorias said grimly. As far as Ornstein knew he had never personally met the kin of Frampt, who had not been seen since the defeat of the everlasting dragons, but he had heard the stories. “They wanted me to join them, so I made my escape. I would have taken them out had I had the chance.”

“You would have attacked the kings of New Londo.” It was not even a question. Ornstein knew he would have. “This would have led to your execution had you succeeded.” Even Lord Gwyn could not ignore such an apparent treason. Unless there was undeniable proof of the Kings' fall from grace, he would have had no choice but to leave his favorite knight to the executioner. The thought alone, of Smough laying hand on Artorias again, made Ornstein clench his fists in remembered rage, and this time the executioner would have had more than a whip.

“I would not have succeeded,” Artorias clarified. “At best, with the element of surprise, I would have taken out two of them. It would still have halved the threat they pose. But the room was full of guards. I would have died before fully bringing down one, and no one would have gotten out word until it was too late. Retreat seemed like the better alternative at that moment.”

“There is no need to apology for being alive,” Gough told him. “It is good that you are and we need you to remain that way. Stay here and heal more while we go to New Londo. We will come for you when we have seen the situation for ourselves.”

“You will not return if you simply enter the city. The Kings will be waiting for you. They will not allow you to escape like they did me. And I will not stay here.”

“I understand thine wish to go with your friends, but I advise you to reconsider,” Elizabeth said gently. “Thy wounds have yet to heal and thy body is very weak. Out there thou wouldst be helpless to any attacker, and thy recovery will be lengthened for every step that you take.”

Perhaps the mushroom did not know Artorias as well as Ornstein had thought if she believed he would be helpless in any situation. Yet she was not wrong. Not about her advice here, in any case. “You told us he would not wake for another day,” he accused her. “And yet here he is, trying to run away. What kind of healer are you, anyway?”

“One who is not used to healing thy kind,” Elizabeth replied, unimpressed. “And Artorias willed himself awake; there is little I can do if he is fighting my magic, for it is not aggressive and serves to help, not to subdue. None the less he ought to rest. His body is not up for activity of any kind.”

Meanwhile, Artorias was struggling to his feet, pushing himself up on Ornstein's shoulder before he could stop him. He groaned in pain but refused to fall over again. “Where is my armor?” he asked, ignoring their discussion. When he spotted it next to Elizabeth and started to limp towards it, Sif brushed past him and sat on top of the pile in a manner of communication even Ornstein understood.

“Sif,” Artorias said, his voice very low but also very raspy. “I will either go in that armor or without it.”

“Where are you even going?” Ornstein asked. He considered giving his soldiers the order to restrain the injured knight. “You told us not to go to New Londo.”

“I told you not to _enter_ New Londo,” Artorias corrected him. “I told you not to confront the Kings. You do not listen to me. I cannot let you go without me as long as you don't believe what I am telling you.” He suddenly turned to Ornstein who had stepped behind him in case he fell over after all and put a hand on his armored shoulder. “What would you have done had I died?” he asked, oddly intensely. “What would you have done had you only Sif's record of the events, through the words of Alvina and Elizabeth? Would you simply have gone home? Would you have gone to the kings to apologize for our missteps?”

He seemed at the same time extremely focused and frantic. It was obvious to Ornstein that his thoughts were not entirely clear yet. He was sick and weak, yet driven by a desperate urgency; something Onrstein was familiar with.

He was also angry with all of them and despairing of their ignorance, something rarely seen. “I do not know,” Ornstein admitted honestly, and calmly. He hoped to get Artorias to slow down; rising to his provocation would not be a clever or advisable course of action. “And we do not need to find out. You are alive, you passed on your story. We will take care of everything. And we will not enter the city and will, in fact, approach it with caution. But you must stay here, and make it to Anor Londo should we not return.”

“You must return, and that is why I am going with you.” Artorias seemed to have given up on his armor for the moment and contented himself with pulling on his shirt. It was rumbled and bloody. There was a lot of blood on it, yet not as much as there may have been. The pressure of the armor and leaving the bolt inside had probably saved him from bleeding to death.

“You promised to leave as soon as you could,” Artorias now said to Gough, who rarely ignited anyone's wrath but was not spared this time. “Yet here you are! How long as it been? The sun was barely up when you found us. Is it still the same day? I relied on you, of all people, to see the urgency of the situation.”

“It is the evening of the same day.” Gough did not seem to take the harsh words to heart. “You have been unconscious for hours. I believe you will be again, soon, if you do not rest. However, seeing as we cannot well stop you and may indeed need your expertise in what is to come, I will not stand in your way, if you allow me to help you.”

“Have you quite lost your mind?” Ornstein could not believe what he just heard. Sif finally abandoned the armor and came over to growl at the giant, apparently sharing the dragon slayer's opinion for once. “You may just as well throw him off a cliff. What use can he be to us in this state?”

“I can warn you when you are about to run into a trap,” Artorias said dryly.

“Oh, I can see your expertise in recognizing traps quite well!”

“And yet you insist on running into the same one.” Gough handed Artorias a flask of water and the injured man accepted gratefully. “Further, I can tell you what to look out for when dealing with the Abyss. None of you have much experience with it. Sif could warn you of any ambush but you cannot understand her. I do not believe darkwraiths are going to come for us if Gough is with us, but the kings are foes to look out for. I have not seen them use their magic in combat for centuries, but I remember it well. And now they are more powerful than before.”

Ornstein remembered as well. He had seen the kings fight against the dragons, and one more time after, in the war against the demons of Izalith, in the days he had first seen Artorias. The magic they had wielded had been impressive in the early days, but it had been nothing then against the power they had after the shard of Lord Gwyn's lordsoul had enabled them to combine their skills to something unified and magnificent. He could only wonder what to expect now, and found that he believed Artorias' story about their fall, and that it worried him very much.

“You are correct that none of us know much about the Abyss and the power it grants,” he admitted. “So tell us now, so we will know what to expect.”

“I can tell you on the way,” Artorias decided. “We have wasted enough time.”

  


-

  


Gough ended up carrying Artorias, who could barely stand, let alone walk. Yet he stubbornly clung to consciousness, if not to the contents of his stomach. He was very thirsty no matter how much he drank and refused any kind of food. Ornstein could see how the magic running through him was draining his body even while repairing it.

He described in detail what had happened when he had last gone to the kings to report on the events in their city. Artorias had spend more time in New Londo than in Anor Londo in recent years; he told them between heavy breaths that he had sensed something was wrong ever since he had entered the cavern following the latest attack of darkwraiths, days ago, but New Londo had been constantly getting darker for a long time, and so he had not made any connection between the change in the city and her rulers until he had met them in person. Even so he had nearly been caught in their trap.

To Ornstein it seemed that it was only Artorias' instincts that had saved him from whatever the kings had in mind for him.

They were traveling with a group of nine; Ornstein, his soldiers and the healer, Gough, who carried Artorias, and Sif, whom Ornstein only reluctantly counted as a person. Alvina followed at a distance; sometimes Ornstein caught sight of her from up the path, but it seemed that she was content to merely watch the proceedings rather than be part of them.

“She does not like going near New Londo,” Artorias explained at some point, though Ornstein wished he would rather save his breath. “Their hunters tend to shoot at her, thinking her one of the wild felines wanting to prey on their people. And more recently, because the place is filled with Dark.”

“You'd think she would fit right in there,” Ornstein commented.

“She would,” Artorias confirmed, but when Ornstein looked at him in surprise, his friend's eyes were closed and he seemed preoccupied with merely staying more or less upright.

They were not moving fast – the massive horses used by Anor Londo, bred to be able to carry even the taller lords, were an ill choice for the woods where the threes were close and the level of the ground shifted often and rarely gently. They would only slow them down here. However, Gough slowed them down as well, for even though he had no problem climbing the down the places where the rocky ground suddenly dropped, he did have trouble navigating the trees.

Artorias was no help, with the way he was hanging half-draped over the giants shoulder barely conscious. The idea that he had meant to go on his own was absolutely ridiculous. Yet, Ornstein was certain that he would have managed had he had to. Even if it had killed him.

Things got a little easier once they left the trees and reached the path down to the basin. Ornstein knew that the fastest way to go down there was a shortcut by way of very long ladder, but it was out of the question now and he had never in fact, used it. Usually, there was no such need to hurry, and he found it an undignified way to get anywhere.

Gough had told Ornstein that he had found Artorias and Alvina halfway up this path. It seemed unbelievable now, considering how steep the path was and how weak Artorias, even after receiving help. Still, it was him who kept urging the group on, only ever stopping long enough to stumble away from Gough's hold and heave up some more bile and water.

“When I found them he was vomiting blood,” Gough told Ornstein in a tone indicating that this was meant to be comforting. “He has gotten much better since then.”

Ornstein could only think that Artorias must have been much closer to death than he had thought.

The healer Ornstein had brought from Anor Londo checked him over briefly every time they stopped, but Artorias had no patience for it and in the end there was very little the woman could do that had not already been done.

By nightfall they reached the valley, and in the distance Ornstein could, in the fading light, make out the gaping mouth of the cavern holding New Londo. It looked like a black maw from where they were, but he told himself that it was the approaching dark giving this impression, and not any kind of dark power that may have befallen this place.

Artorias, who had been silent for an hour, grew restless now. He shared a lot of long glances with Sif and kept staring at the dark cavern, as if he could see something they did not. Their group stopped at the end of the bridge leading to the city and looked down it in silence.

“Sir Ornstein,” Peralun, one of the soldiers, suddenly called. “Look!” He pointed at the high towers flanking the entrance. Ornstein squinted to see anything in the growing darkness, cursing the helmet that greatly limited his field of vision, and finally made out the archers on top of the constructs – two on each side.

It was not unusual for the watchtowers to be manned. It was their purpose, after all. But times were peaceful, and Ornstein in his armor, as well as Gough, were easily recognizable even from afar. There was no decent explanation for the archers to aim their bows straight at them.

They were tall and strong enough to wield great bows. A well aimed shot, even from this distance, could endanger all of them.

The archers were not trying to hide, so this display was clearly meant as a warning. Ornstein was inclined to heed it, a half-forgotten instinct telling him to keep his distance from the city, but the idea of reporting to Lord Gwyn that they turned away from a few archers without getting any answers did not sit well with him.

“You stay here,” he ordered, and this time it _was_ an order. No one was to come along if he went over there. “Gough, you come with me,” he decided a moment later. The giant handed Artorias over to two of the soldiers who made sure he stayed upright and followed Ornstein onto the bridge. It was very stable and Ornstein was certain it would hold his weight, but Gough still moved carefully to avoid disaster.

He had been taking very small and slow steps all day so he didn't leave them behind. It was probably exhausting, yet he had never complained or even indicated any kind of discomfort.

Artorias, to Ornstein's surprise and concern, made no move to stop them or to come along. He merely watched them walk towards the city he had claimed over and over held certain doom, either trusting Gough's presence to scare off anyone who would attack them or Ornstein's common sense in the face of obvious danger. He would be right to do so. Ornstein had not survived this long and fought so many successful battles because he let his pride get in the way of his better judgment.

But he needed to see the city for himself, even if it was but a glance, and he needed to find some sort of confirmation on what had become of the kings.

The towers loomed high above them, accessible only through a ladder that was easy to defend and that Ornstein had no intention of climbing. No one had shot at them yet, but he did notice that the aim of the archers followed them.

Someone was waiting for them between the towers. It was a lord, tall like Artorias and twice as broad. Ornstein recognized him as Rettegh, one of the city's more renowned knights. He had not made an appearance in any way for many years, and had not had any part in fighting the darkwraiths that haunted his hometown. Ornstein had thought he was dead.

Perhaps it was only another man with a similar statue, wearing his armor. Ornstein did not think it was.

The other knight was standing silently, with his board ax resting on his shoulder. One hit with the weapon would mean great danger for Ornstein, but he was faster and knew that he would likely win any fight between them, even without Gough's considerable strength at his back.

“What brings you here, Dragon Slayer?” Rettegh's voice came from underneath the helmet. “This city has not seen you in many years.”

“Nor you, for all I have heard,” Ornstein asked back. “If you are not dead, as the world had thought, pray tell me why you would not appear when your city was in such deep need for protection?” Why leave it all to Artorias, who had been slowly crumbling under the strain?

“You are not welcome here, Knights of Gwyn.” It seemed that Rettegh had decided to ignore the question, and that he had finally noticed Gough. Ornstein tightened his grip around his lightning spear, but he did not assume a fighting stance. “The kings will not see you. Leave.”

“I am here on behalf of Lord Gwyn, your sovereign. You must grant me entry.”

Behind Rettegh the city stretched, drenched in shadow. Torches burned along the walkways and bridges, reflected in the water below, but they seemed to offer neither warmth nor light. Ornstein remembered the center of New Londo as a peaceful place with a sense of safely and quiet beauty. Nothing of that was left now.

He saw no people on the streets. Only in a window or two he could make out shadows moving, caught a glimpse of a pale face before a candle was extinguished, a curtain drawn. He saw another pale face in an alley, lingering, watching, white like bone, and shuddered.

“We must not. Lord Gwyn no longer has power over this city. What is it to him, that he would suddenly claim any right to it?”

Someone was standing on the bridge leading to the palace. Despite the dark, Ornstein could see them clearly. Tall, with long hair that seemed to blow in an impossible wind. A sword in the right hand. Completely still.

“An interesting question from someone who was quite content to use a knight of our lord's personal guard to fight their battles for them for years,” Ornstein noted.

“It is no longer necessary. It never was. Leave now. We wish not for conflict with Anor Londo, but we do not fear it either.”

The threat was not even subtle, not was it supposed to be. Ornstein was tempted to challenge the other knight to a duel right here and now, but he would not be the one to start this conflict, and he did not trust the archers on the towers.

Although he could count on Gough to take care of those for him. Archers threatening Hawkeye Gough with arrows. Ornstein would have laughed at the absurdity of it, had he not felt like the situation they were in was balancing precariously on the edge of disaster.

The figure in the distance was closer. Had the man not been on the bridge but a moment ago? He had not moved, and yet Ornstein was certain he had closed in on them. Was he still on the bridge? The shadows made it almost impossible to judge any kind of distance.

“Anor Londo will be ready for you. Know that we do not take a breaking of alliances lightly. Let me see your kings, so I can hear this treachery from their mouths directly. Who are you to speak for them?”

“I am a loyal servant, as we all should be.”

The man was closer still. Ornstein could not look at him. An almost suffocating sense of dread came over him. “A servant of whom?” he asked.

“Ornstein,” Gough said.

“You will learn.”

“So it is true, then? New Londo's kings have fallen, and their city with them?”

“Ornstein,” Gough repeated.

The figure was so close, like it was looming right behind Rettegh, but when Ornstein looked for it he could not tell if it had moved at all.

“We should go,” Gough said, and Ornstein silently agreed.

“The kings are wise and great and you would do better to not doubt them,” Rettegh warned. He still had not moved. The looming figure was had not moved either, and yet Ornstein had the desire to move back.

Sif suddenly appeared beside him, growling and slashing her sword at the knight before them. Rettegh jumped back, no doubt as surprised as Ornstein was. Shots were fired; a great arrow glanced off Ornstein's armor, another hit the ground right beside him, and then drops of blood rained down on him as Gough blocked another with his arm. He shielded Ornstein even as he took out his own bow and took aim. The arrow, designed to penetrate the stone scales of dragons, clipped away the low wall the archers were covering behind and impaled one, knocking the other off the tower, Gough aimed again, ignoring the much smaller arrow hitting his shoulder, and took out the other two archers. Meanwhile, Ornstein swung his spear, now infused with lightning, at Rettegh, but the knight jumped back once again, narrowly avoiding the strike, and Ornstein could not follow him because Sif was blocking his way.

The wolf swung her blade once more, but it was to chase away, not to harm. She whirled around and made as if to attack Ornstein, clearly meaning to drive him back, and when he looked up he saw the figure in the distance now right behind Rettegh, slowly walking towards them at a speed that would never have allowed him to cross the distance from the palace in so short a time, with flying hair and robes and surrounded by an overpowering aura of pure, dark magic.

Gough's final arrow hit the mechanism that lowered the heavy gate protecting the entrance, unused in centuries, and the gate fell down almost unhindered, blocking everything on the other side from sight.

When Ornstein turned around and started down the bridge, he found all the others with ready arms, and halfway to their position. Even Artorias had drawn the sword that so far he had used mostly as a walking aid if Gough had not carried it for him. They had decided to leave behind his armor as it would do his wound more harm than good at this point and no one believed he would be rushing into any battle situation. Now, with his blood stained shirt, ghostly pale face, and black hair falling like the night past his shoulders, he looked more like a demon than the hero Anor Londo was so proud of.

Ornstein did not ask him what he was thinking, running into bow range without armor on, nor what the others were thinking to let him. His hands were still shaking and he could not get his heart to slow down. This was not a reaction normal for him after a confrontation this short.

“At the very least I can now confirm that the kings have fallen,” he told the others when they met near the center of the bridge. “Which of them was that?” He turned to Artorias, now leaning on his sword rather than wielding it. “I could not tell.”

Artorias shook his head. “Nor I. In a way he looked like all of them at once, yet with all individual features erased from his form. I wonder now if the illusion I saw in the throne room ran even deeper than I had thought, or if they have changed this much in so short a time.”

“It hardly matters now.” Like it did not matter that it was, in the end, Sif who had lashed out first. At the very least, Ornstein hoped that it would not matter. He was already wondering how he was going to word his report to Gwyn in a manner that left this unclear, so no situation could be created in which Artorias had to take responsibility for his companions' actions.

He took Artorias' sword and draped the other's arm over his shoulder to support him, all the while glaring at the wolf who glared back defiantly.

“I send her,” Artorias said quietly – as always way too perceptive for his own good. “I am not asking you to lie for us.”

Ornstein wanted to wrap his gauntleted hands around that long, slender neck, and _squeeze_.

They all retreated to the end of the bridge and towards the cave holding the elevator back up to the woods. Gough would not be able to take it, being far too big to fit. He would climb up the side of the cliff where it was not quite as steep, and meet them at the top. His wounds, he assured them, were not much of a problem. He would get them taken care of as soon as they made it back to the capital.

They were in quite a hurry now. The uncertainty as to what was going on behind the gate to New Londo and what might emerge from it urged them to get away, and the need to report the recent events urged them towards Anor Londo. Artorias' pitiful condition, however, slowed them down, and he would no longer allow Gough to carry him after receiving several arrows to the arms and shoulders.

All Gough ended up carrying was Artorias' shield, that he had retrieved from a hiding place in the cave. Once they reached the top of the path leading up to the Royal Wood, where Alvina was awaiting them, they agreed to split up. The healer and one of the soldiers would help Artorias back to Elizabeth, who would support his healing until he was well enough to move on his own. The rest of them would go back to Anor Lono as quickly as possible, as Gwyn needed to be informed of the recent events.

Ornstein parted from his friend only very reluctantly, but knew that they could not move as fast as they needed to with him there – not without Artorias causing himself further harm. Yet Artorias' report was the one most needed. Ornstein told his fellow knight to stay put until someone came to get him. It would happen by midday the next day, at the latest. Artorias promised not to come on his own, and he did not look, as they parted, as if he would be able to even try, yet Ornstein gave his soldier the order to not let him leave the cave. He would not allow Artorias to kill himself in these woods, no matter how hard he might try.

  


**Author's Note:**

> This story is split into two parts; the second chapter will be added in a day or two.


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